The Best Books to Read in April: New Paperbacks from Katie Kitamura, Benjamin Wood, and Mick Herron

The novel as a form has long been concerned with mapping the contours of the human experience. However, when the landscape itself becomes a character or a force to be reckoned with, something new emerges. Recent fiction suggests a renewed interest in exploring the intersections of identity, trauma, and environment.

Katie Kitamura’s Audition is a case in point. On its surface, it’s a story about a woman’s encounter with a man who claims to be her abandoned son. As the narrative unfolds, however, it becomes clear that this novel is not just about identity but also about the performative nature of selfhood. The narrator’s memories are fragmented and unreliable, much like the shifting sands of the coastline she inhabits. This exploration of how we present ourselves to others – and how easily those masks can be torn away – is a powerful one.

Benjamin Wood’s Seascraper uses its setting to explore the inner lives of its characters in a similar way. Tom Flett, the protagonist, works as a “shanker” on a remote coast, scraping the sand for its yield at low tide. But beneath his rugged exterior lies a deep vulnerability that makes him susceptible to the charms of an American film director who sees potential stardom in him. Wood’s writing transforms the mundane tasks of Tom’s daily life into poetry.

One of the most striking aspects of these novels – and others like them – is their ability to capture the anxieties of our time. Tony Tulathimutte’s Rejection presents a world where online spaces have become battlegrounds for identity politics, reducing individuals to their most superficial traits. The stories in this collection feel eerily prescient, capturing the current moment when the very notion of identity seems under siege.

Sarah Hall’s Helm takes a different approach, using weather and climate as a metaphorical backdrop for its exploration of trauma. Britain’s only named wind is a central character in its own right, a force to be reckoned with that brings both destruction and renewal. The novel’s central concern is not just the physical environment but also the emotional landscape of its characters.

These novels share a sense of unease, a feeling that the very fabric of our lives is being torn apart by forces beyond our control. They are maps of trauma and identity, attempts to make sense of a world in which the lines between self and other have become increasingly blurred. Despite their darkness, they offer a glimmer of hope – that even in the most desolate landscapes, there is always the possibility for transformation.

The question now is what these novels tell us about our own relationship with the environment. Do we see ourselves reflected in the shifting sands of Kitamura’s coastline or in the turbulent winds of Hall’s Cumbria? And how can we use fiction to better understand the world around us and our place within it?